


The Price of Freedom

by Saedhriel



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Gen, I'm gonna use all my knowlegde from Aubrey-Maturin and Pirates of the Caribbean, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Pirate AU, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saedhriel/pseuds/Saedhriel
Summary: She was Carol Peletier, and her name was legend. Captain of the Sophie, tales were told about how she was a merciless pirate and a cold-blooded woman. The stories about her and her crew were known in every harbor, and nobody could tell truth from legend, not even her.





	

The woman looked into the horizon as if it belonged to her. The cold wind messed up her shoulder-length, silver hair, but she didn’t seem to be aware of that. Her distant blue eyes were fixed on the water, where the rest of a more than evident shipwreck spread as far as the eye could see.

She was Carol Peletier, and her name was legend. Captain of the _Sophie_ , tales were told about how she was a merciless pirate and a cold-blooded woman. The stories about her and her crew were known in every harbor, and nobody could tell truth from legend, not even her.

The stories said that she left no survivors after her attacks. That she slaughtered the men and offered the women the chance to join her crew. They said she hated all men, to the point of having killed her husband years ago. She had been the first —and only, so far— pirate who had rebelled against the power of Negan’s fleet. She was wanted by all the ships of the Saviors, and evil tongues said that she kept dodging them thanks to King Ezekiel’s support, who was supposed to be her lover and benefactor. It was well known that she found shelter in the Kingdom Beyond The Sea when she needed a safe port.

The legend around her name had kept growing over the years, and she had never tried to stop the rumors.

She squinted before the macabre spectacle. The sea was covered by splintered wooden boards and barrels, ripped sails and sackcloth. The air smelled of ashes and she could still see the smoke rising from the wrecked ship. She wondered how much time would pass before she saw the first corpse, pale as death and swollen from drifting in the water. It wasn’t the first shipwreck she had witnessed and it had stopped shocking her a long time ago.

Suddenly, something drew her attention. She saw what must have been part of a mast floating in the water, and a person holding on to it. Slowly, she plucked her spyglass from her belt and adjusted the objective. It was a man with long, dark hair, and he seemed to be either unconscious or dead. Some seagulls were already flying in circles over him, and Carol knew that it was a matter of time before the first one descended to peck at his flesh.

“Michonne!” she called out. She didn’t have to wait long before Michonne appeared. “There’s a man out there. Send Maggie and Sasha out on the boat and bring him to the ship.”

Michonne nodded and walked away to follow her instructions. Moments later, the boat hit the water in the port side and Maggie and Sasha rowed towards the man with extreme caution, avoiding the floating wooden boards. She watched through her spyglass as they reached the mast and the man holding on to it. Maggie reached out to touch him. At first, he didn’t react, and Carol was certain that he was dead after God knew how much time adrift. But then he cringed under Maggie’s touch and tried to get away from her, still completely disoriented.

But he was too weak and couldn’t hold on to the mast anymore, and if Maggie and Sasha hadn’t been there, he would probably have drowned. They pulled him aboard without any resistance and headed back to the _Sophie_.

Once they got onto the deck of the ship —always helped by Maggie and Sasha—, the man collapsed on the wooden floor, unable to take a step further. Carol approached him as the crew crowded around him.

“Water,” he muttered, his voice gritty and rough as his chest heaved up and down. “Water.”

Carol looked at Jacqui, the cook and the person in charge of the supplies, and nodded. The black woman disappeared down the stairs to the hold and reappeared some moments later with a cup full of water. She handed it to Carol.

The man knelt on the floor and raised his hands to catch the cup, expectant, but Carol didn’t give it to him.

“Oh no, first things first,” she said, moving away the cup and taking a little sip herself. She could feel the man’s desperation and anger. “Do you know who I am and where you are?”

The man fixed his eyes on her. If looks could kill, she would definitely have been dead by then. But she had stopped being afraid a long time ago. She held his look until the man lowered his eyes and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“You’re the Silver Fury,” he said. “Captain Carol Peletier.”

“Oh, that’s what they call me now? Nice,” she said, amused. “Well, since you know my name, I think it’s fair that you tell us what’s yours, don’t you think? It’s a matter of courtesy.”

The man ground his teeth, and Carol almost wished that he would refuse to answer. But in the end, he talked.

“Da—,“ he started, but interrupted himself before he could finish. Carol frowned, but didn’t say a word. “Dale Horvath.”

“Welcome aboard the _Sophie_ , Mr. Horvath,” she said as she made a hand flourish. Then she offered him the cup of water, and he accepted it so abruptly that part of its contents spilled over. He took a greedy sip, but before he could take anymore, Carol took the cup out of his shaking hands again.

“Easy, easy, Mr. Horvath, or you’ll feel sick.”

He didn’t say a word. He just stayed silent, resigned.

“Now I need you to answer a few questions, Mr. Horvath,” she said. Her voice sounded polite, but her eyes were cold as ice. “What was that ship? What happened to it?”

As she waited for the answers, she saw the smile on his face.

“Thought you were an excellent sailor, Captain,” he said. “The ship sank.”

“I don’t think this is the best moment to joke, sir. Your life depends on it,” she warned. He looked up and met her eyes for a brief moment. Then he looked away.

“It was the _Lively_. We left Port Atlanta five days ago. We were heading to the Kingdom when they attacked us,” he explained. “It was just a merchant ship of fabrics, so they took what they wanted and set the rest on fire. We couldn’t escape.”

“Who was it? Who attacked you?” she asked, thought she was starting to suspect the answer.

“The Saviors,” he said and spat.

His words were followed by silence. Nobody was surprised to hear that the Saviors, once again, were using their power without restraint. Carol shook her head, thoughtful, and handed Dale the cup. He accepted it with mistrust, but this time she didn’t try to take it away from him. Instead, she approached the gunwale and stared at the destruction in front of her.

Then she turned around and watched the man they just had rescued, trying to decide what she should do with him. His clothes were torn and unusable, burned in some places, but she doubted that they had been of good quality even before the accident. He wasn’t of noble birth, that was obvious. His arms were tanned and she could see the strength in them, gained after years of hard work. She wouldn’t receive any ransom for him. In fact, he looked like the kind of man from the underworld she wouldn’t normally trust. The tattoos on his arms —and probably his trunk— gave him away. Specifically the one on his forearm.

“How did you get that?” she asked, pointing at it. The three black bars on the wrist. It was the mark used in the prison of Port Atlanta for those convicted of major crimes. She knew this because she had seen it so many times before when she had lived in Port Atlanta. Slowly, she grabbed the handle of her dagger.

He looked down at the tattoo. Then he looked around, at the quiet crew around him, dozens of eyes fixed on him, and swallowed nervously. His face darkened, and eventually, he talked.

“I… I was caught stealing some food from the supplies for Negan’s men,” he said. “Found guilty before I could even blink.”

Carol eased her grip on her dagger, not surprised at all. It wasn’t the first time she heard something similar, and it wouldn’t be the last. The Saviors made an example of anyone who tried to steal any of Negan’s possessions. Those found guilty of such a _crime_ were sentenced to death without a second thought. Lots of people, desperate to feed their family and fool enough to try to steal the food from the Saviors, had died in the name of _justice_.

“You were stupid enough to let them catch you, but somehow you managed to escape,” Carol said. “How?”

Her blue eyes burned like fire when she fixed them on him.

“Guess I’m good at sneaking out of places,” he simply said, giving no explanations, but under her inquisitive look, he added. “I got help from the outside. My brother knew some people that owed him a favor. They took me out at night, during the changing of the guard.”

“You’re lucky then, Mr. Horvath. Negan has no power over this ship. I redeem you of your sins,” she said, simulating a dramatic blessing sign with her hand. She watched him blatantly until he had to look away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. She enjoyed this feeling of control, knowing that she could give the order to kill him at any moment, and knowing that he was aware of that too. However, she didn’t say a word. Maybe she was the lucky one. He seemed to be perfect for her plan.

“Michonne,” she called. “Take him to the infirmary. Jacqui, prepare some food for him. Tomorrow, Mr. Horvath, we’ll talk about business.” She looked then at her crew. “The rest of you, back to work. Now.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. The women around them disappeared in the blink of an eye, Michonne and Jacqui being the only ones that stayed beside him, ready to follow Carol’s orders. The man stared at her as she turned around to head for the helm. Before she could take another step, he raised his voice, still weak and shaking.

“What d’ya want from me?”

Carol stopped, but didn’t look back. The wind pulled at her leather coat and messed her silver hair.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Don’t be impatient,” she said. “Just do yourself a favor. Prove to me that I made the right choice sparing your life.”


End file.
